


Third Times the Charm

by SydneyMo



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 11:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13052664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyMo/pseuds/SydneyMo
Summary: A shorter version of the 5+1 idea. Two times Illya and Gaby were interrupted and one time they, well, weren't. 100% pure organic fluff.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MilkshakeKate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkshakeKate/gifts).



> For the wonderous MilkshakeKate for the 2017 Winter Holiday Gift Exchange

“You know Gaby,” Solo winced from his spot lying face down on the table. “When I thought of myself bare-assed with you in a kitchen, this isn’t at all what I pictured.” He winced again while Gaby rolled her eyes. Illya, however, was not amused. The trio was stationed at a safehouse in the outskirts of Vienna, attempting to diffuse a Nazi-sympathizers uprising when Solo, after a slightly botched covert operation, had been shot. It was a small caliber bullet, but it did require medical attention to which they didn’t have immediate access. Gaby had found endless amusement in the placement of the bullet which had lodged itself firmly in the fatty tissue of Solo’s left butt cheek. That is, she had until it dawned upon her that she would have to be the one to remove it. 

“Stop squirming,” Gaby chastised, reaching across the make-shift surgical table to grab a clean rag. “You’re going to make the bleeding worse.” Illya was leaning against the back cabinets, surveying his partners with a frown and crossed arms.  
“I can’t help it, this isn’t exactly the most pleasant experience, despite your womanly touch.” Solo winced again, shifting on the tabletop.  
“And here we thought you were having fun.” Illya commented dryly, one eyebrow raised.  
“Oh sure, Peril. It’s loads of fun getting shot in the ass. You should try it sometime. I wouldn’t even mind pulling the trigger.”

“Almost got it,” Solo cringed as Gaby dug the tweezers deeper, trying to get a grip on the small bullet.  
“If I must be spread-eagle on a table with my pants around my ankles, there should at least be a woman underneath me.” Solo complained, raising his chin to set it on his crossed hands. “What do you say, Gabs? You interested in a bit of—ow!”  
“Oops.” There wasn’t a hint of remorse in Gaby’s voice as she plucked the bullet from its home, not bothering to be gentle. Illya rolled his eyes at her ministrations, but couldn’t stop the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against one impressive bicep.  
“It’s out?” Solo asked, looking over his shoulder at Gaby who was pressing a rag against his wound.  
“It’s out.”  
“There is sewing kit with new thread, but that is all we have for stitching.” Illya nodded his head to the small red box lying above the sink containing, as the wrapping proudly proclaimed, the proper housewife’s basic necessities.  
“Keep pressure on that.” Gaby instructed, placing Solo’s hand over the rag and pressing down.

It took several minutes for Gaby to sterilize and thread the needle which, unfortunately for Solo, happened to be of the tapestry variety.  
“This is going to hurt.” She warned, moving the rag and poking at the skin surrounding the injury. “It’s blunt, and thicker than normal.”  
Solo opened his mouth to make a snarky remark, but closed it again when he caught sight of Illya’s glare.  
“Just warn me before you—Gaby!” Gaby had experience in dealing with wounds of all shapes and sizes, though perhaps not many from a bullet, but she knew the quickest and easiest way to sew the skin closed was to take the person by surprise.  
“You’re a spy, a needle is the least of your worries.” Gaby remarked. She had no pity for the CIA agent, especially since he was doing his best to while away the time by winding Illya up.

“There.” Gaby snipped the loose thread and nudged Solo’s leg with her own, signaling the completion of his minor surgery. “You can put the bandage on yourself. There’s gauze in the bathroom.”  
Solo slowly stood, unbothered by his trousers still wrapped around his ankles, and looked over his shoulder at Gaby’s handiwork. Illya raised his eyes to the ceiling, not wanting to see anymore of Solo’s unmentionables than he already had.  
“Not bad,” Solo shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, testing the resistance of the stitches.  
“Go clean yourself up.” Illya grunted, annoyed by Gaby’s nonchalance at their semi-naked partner.  
“What, not jealous are you?” he kicked his pants off, bending over to pick them up and giving Gaby a wink. Illya scoffed, not wanting to encourage the American but unable to resist the temptation of one-upping him.  
“I see nothing to be jealous of.”  
“Nothing?” Solo stood turning in profile so all of him was in full view of both Gaby and Illya. “I find that hard to believe. Gaby, do you want to be the judge?” Illya’s fingers continued to tap a steady tattoo but he had moved his hands to his side, openly glaring.  
“Go put your clothes on, Solo.” Gaby replied rolling her eyes. “You’re not going to be able to proposition anyone until you heal.”  
He shrugged, waddling away towards the room he had claimed as his own, but he couldn’t resist one passing remark.  
“You don’t want to kiss it better?” His snicker followed him down the hall as Gaby threw a rag at his head.

Illya grunted in annoyance, shifting himself to face Gaby and refolding his arms across his chest; his fingers were still tapping.  
“He’s just trying to annoy you.” Gaby explained, wiping down the table with a clean rag and tidying up their kitchen area.  
“He is doing good job.”  
“You’ve made it too easy.” Illya opened his mouth but huffed out a breath, deciding not to argue.  
“He should not say such things like this in front of you.”  
“I’ve heard worse.”  
“This is not the point.” He took the dirty rags from Gaby, stuffing them in a trash bag and tying it closed. “Is not polite to insinuate…” He searched for the right word.  
“What? Insinuate a risqué and passion-filled sexual relationship?” Gaby rolled her eyes and sat down at the table while Illya visibly bristled. “You know he’s only doing it to get a rise out of you. If you weren’t so easy to mess with he’d leave you alone.”  
“It is not the Russian way—”  
“Of course it’s not, that’s exactly why he’s doing it.” Illya unfolded his arms and sat across from her, tapping his fingers against this table.

“You are saying if I ignore Cowboy’s antics, he will stop but this is not true.”  
“Then stop letting it bother you.” Gaby placed her hand over his own to stop the rhythmic noise and leaned forward, her eyes searching Illya’s face. “Why does it bother you?”

Illya hesitated, but didn’t remove his hand from Gaby’s grip. He didn’t answer right away, allowing his thoughts to take him back to East Germany. His first impression of the small German mechanic was that she was loud but strong. She enjoyed peoples looks of surprise should they see a woman under the hood of a car, and she didn’t let the other mechanics treat her differently. She was respected. He thought of Rome where she had challenged him to a drunken wrestling match, taking him completely off guard and insisting throughout in both words and actions that she was her own woman. They had been on a dozen or so missions between then and now, and yet he had only grown fonder of Gaby. What he thought was infatuation had progressed into something more, and even if she felt the same way he knew logically that he should never act on it.  
“Illya?” He hadn’t responded, hadn’t even noticed Gaby had moved closer to his face, her eyes flickering between his own. Without thinking, Illya moved close enough to feel her breath on his cheeks. Her eyes began to close, and she moved to close the ever shrinking gap between them.

There was a creaking sound getting steadily louder followed by a loud CRACK as Illya’s chair gave way beneath him surprising them both. It was as if everything happened in slow motion; Illya knew he wouldn’t be able to catch himself so he did the only logical thing and threw his hands out in front of him to keep his nose from cracking on the tile floor; it was at the same time that Gaby attempted to stand, reaching out a hand as if to help though she knew she wouldn’t be able to catch all 210 pounds of pure Russian muscle. The two fell together, Gaby sitting down hard in her recently vacated chair while Illya’s hands landed painfully on either side of her on the floor, his head smacking down face first into Gaby’s lap.

Unfortunately for them, this was also the moment Solo walked in. He raised an eyebrow, rolling up the sleeves of his dark blue bathrobe and placing his hands on his hips.  
“Gained a little weight, haven’t you Peril?” He asked watching to two spring apart as if they were magnets. Solo tried to keep the grin off his face, but seeing both his partners complexions morph to the color of a ripe tomato made a straight face difficult. The corners of his mouth twitched as Gaby smoothed out her dress front and pushed past him to the living room.  
“Just a bit of advice,” Solo turned to the mortified KGB agent, patting him companionably on the shoulder. “I suggest dinner and a drink first.”


	2. Chapter Two

Gaby was not happy. One could gamble on any of the potential reasons as to why the typically untroubled East German mechanic turned international spy was snapping at anyone in her path and finding fault with everything her partners did, but it wasn’t until Solo caught an UNCLE secretary sneaking Gaby a bottle of sickly cherry-flavored cough medicine that her behavior became clear. Gaby was sick. 

“You should go home and rest.” Illya insisted, stepping aside and allowing Gaby to place a towering pile of paperwork on her desk.  
“I’m fine,”  
“I beg to differ,” Solo began, appearing out of nowhere to lean against Gaby’s desk and place an arm atop her paperwork. She glowered at him, but said nothing.  
“You’re going to get us ALL sick, and I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but women don’t tend to flock to men who are a coughing, sniveling mess.”  
“Women do not flock to you period.” Illya quipped, ignoring Solo as he placed a hand over his chest in mock hurt, and instead turned to Gaby.   
“You will not get work done when you feel this way.”  
“I can’t get work done at all with you two pestering me!” 

Waverly’s head poked out from behind his office door. The office was filled with UNCLE agents, but none would ever interrupt the senior members whether they were doing their work or not, unless of course said person oversaw the team’s paychecks.   
“Solo, Kuryakin, get back to your respective desks please and leave Teller be.” Napoleon had dramatically placed a tissue over his mouth and nose to prevent any germs from entering his system and shrugged, walking to his desk two rows over. Illya hesitated, but gave Gaby space when Waverly cleared his throat meaningfully.   
“Oh, and Teller?” Gaby looked up. “Do get yourself a cup of tea, and make sure you keep tissues nearby; no need for the entire office to come down with this.”

********  
Three hours. That’s how long Gaby had until she could go home. The tap-tap-tapping of her pen against her desk kept time with the second hand of the wall clock. It would be another hour after that when she could take the next dose of medicine one of the secretaries had brought her, but Gaby was debating just taking another tablespoon now. Her head was pounding, her throat felt raw, and she had gone through half a box of tissues already. 

“Focus,” Gaby chastised herself, forcing her eyes back from the clock to the work in front of her. The amount of paperwork that was involved in shooting a man, even though he didn’t actually die, was exhausting.   
“Here,” Gaby looked up when the shadow of her tall Russian partner fell across her desk. He handed her a mug smelling of ginger and something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.   
“What’s this?”  
“Is medicine.” Gaby raised an eyebrow and Illya rolled his eyes, seating himself in a vacant chair and sliding it to sit next to her.  
“A home remedy. The muck that you have,” he gestured to the bottle of cough syrup that Gaby had contemplated chugging, “will not make you well. It has too much alcohol, not enough balm.”  
Gaby shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it.” She took a sip and hummed appreciatively. “It’s good. What’s in it?”  
“Mostly broth, a few herbs.” Illya admitted. “There wasn’t much in the kitchen.”  
“You made this?”  
“Of course.”  
“Oh. Thank you.” Gaby took another sip and placed the mug down on her paperwork giving her an excuse to procrastinate. 

“I’m not sick. I’m just feeling a little under the weather, but I’ll be fine.”  
“I am sure you will be. Then men will be- how did Cowboy put it- flock to you?”  
Gaby scoffed and put her chin in her elbow, tapping her other fingers against the desk.   
“You think men flock to me?”  
“Not when you’re sick.”  
“I’m not sick. No one’s flocking to me now.”  
Illya hesitated for a moment. “I am here.”   
“Flocking?” Gaby leaned forward, dropping her hand.  
“If you wish.”

The two were in their own world, focusing only on each other as they leaned in, ignoring any outside interference. In Gaby’s case, this included the tickle that had started only moments ago in the back of her throat.  
Without warning, Gaby sneezed, her head ducking down instinctively to cover her mouth but instead smacking Illya hard in the nose.  
The two broke apart wincing, Gaby holding her head and Illya holding a hand to his nose to stop the blood that had already trickled down his chin.   
“Hey Gabs,” a voice called over as Solo made his way to Gaby’s desk. “Did you fill out that-” Solo stopped, looking between the two, his question forgotten as he took in Illya’s bleeding nose. He shook his head.  
“I told you not to tell her she’s sick.”


	3. Chapter Three

“Cheers,” Illya, Solo, and Gaby clinked their glasses together and each took a long sip, savoring the feeling of another successful mission. Sharing a drink in their hotel room had become tradition for the trio ever since their first assignment together in Rome, though this time there wasn’t any information to burn. Solo substituted a mini bonfire on their balcony table with a candle in a crystal holder that had ‘mysteriously appeared’ in his bag the night before. 

“I’d say, all in all, this was one of our most relaxing trips yet.” Solo took another sip from his drink, flicking his sunglasses from his forehead to his nose.  
“Relaxing?” Illya scoffed.  
“Besides the part where we were trapped in a burning building while being shot at, you mean.” Gaby countered, her eyebrows raised above her designer bands and her finger, still wearing a fake engagement ring, tapping audibly against her glass.  
Solo bristled. “I’ve told you already, that wasn’t my fault.”  
“The candles all magically fell by themselves?”  
“You’re making this after-mission drink much less enjoyable.”

Illya ignored the pairs back and forth repartee, looking out at the Parisian skyline. It was mid-afternoon and many a couple were wandering the streets holding hands, taking pictures, and kissing one another underneath the shadow of the Eifel Tower. Illya would never admit it out loud, but he envied them their easy life. Never having to worry about kissing whom they wanted to kiss, never worrying about their significant other being used as leverage, never watching their every word lest they speak out of turn. They could give each other any trinkets they wanted without fear of persecution. He had his mothers’ engagement ring locked away in a safety deposit box in Sweden having rescued it from a pawn shop shortly after his father’s arrest but Illya knew as long as he was under the KGB’s thumb, there it would stay.   
He glanced at Gaby from the corner of his eye, his sunglasses hiding his look. It would be nice to give Gaby a ring with real significance. Meaning and love behind it, even though his parents love had died long before his mother slipped the ring off her finger. 

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Gaby scoffed loudly, making Illya jump back to the present moment. Solo threw his hands in the air in defeat.  
“Fine! But know that I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart.” He set down his drink and walked back into their hotel room, pushing the sliding glass door closed with his toe as he went.   
Illya turned to Gaby inquisitively.  
“I asked him to make me a drink.” She explained, pushing her sunglasses back to her forehead and leaning her back against the railing. “Payment for almost burning us to death.”  
“You have not finished what you have.” Gaby raised her eyebrows.  
“I wanted something different. What, do I need your permission?”  
“No, I did not say that.” Gaby nodded, letting the potential argument drop.

“Maybe I didn’t want him out here anymore.” Illya snorted, unknowingly mimicking Gaby as he pushed his own sunglasses to his head and turned to face her.   
“No one would blame you, but—”   
Gaby didn’t let him finish, instead knocking his glass out of his hand, pushing herself against him and kissing him fully on the lips. Illya didn’t have time to react, he barely registered the fact that he was no longer holding his drink before Gaby stepped back a little, her arms wrapped around his neck and her eyes searching his own.  
“I—”   
“I know this isn’t a good idea,” Gaby began, “but our entire lives are based on bad ideas.”  
“Why did you—”  
“I didn’t want to get interrupted. I’ve thought about this so many times but every time I’d try--”  
“Cowboy.” Illya nodded in understanding.

As if summoned by the sound of his nickname, Napoleon walked out onto the balcony, an apron around his waist and a towel flung over his shoulder.  
“Gaby, did you want a cherry in your drink?” He paused, noticing probably for the first time that he was interrupting.  
“Go back inside, Solo.”  
“Yup,” He turned on his heel, strolling back to the kitchen whistling before calling behind him, “It’s about time you know!” They both ignored him.  
“I know you think there are risks,”  
“There are risks.”   
“You think I can’t handle them?”   
For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Illya smiled- truly smiled- as he wrapped his arms around Gaby’s hips and kissed her.  
“I know we can handle them together.”


End file.
